


Getting Warmer

by kmdmsh



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Fluff, M/M, No Spoilers, Post-Game, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmdmsh/pseuds/kmdmsh
Summary: He comes home with more callouses on his hand and a colder touch, a sign of growth after facing so many hardships no one else could imagine, but the look in his eyes is still as warm and gentle as ever.Zeph's heart grows warmer knowing it's still Alfyn who comes home to him after so long.





	Getting Warmer

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt request from Tumblr! (Though the request was pretty vague, I just added on to it with my own self-indulgence. Haha.) This is pretty short, though I hope you'll still give it a try. I hope you enjoy this piece and please do leave your thoughts about this fic in the comments. <3

Zeph’s palm slides into Alfyn’s own, fitting perfectly between the spaces of the other’s fingers and being able to feel every bit of his adventures, his troubles, and his emotions through those scarred and calloused hands. His first instinct is to shiver, to pull away and dig his hands deep into the pockets of his coat to return the warmth he’s oh so used to.

 

Yet he still keeps holding on.

 

The brunette’s grasp only tightens, fingers digging into the back of the blonde’s hand as he makes his home into the crook of Alfyn’s neck. The smell of herbs and balms hits Zeph’s senses, overwhelming him the more he stays, but he doesn’t mind. It’s those things that remind him of life - the sheer amount of fragrances that mix together only prove of just how many times Alfyn must have used his expertise during his journey, goes to show him just how many lives he’s saved since they bid farewell, one warm midsummer day, on the hill that overlooks the town and the world and the path that the man would take, one that would hold danger that Zeph may never see with his own eyes.

 

The thought brings only ambivalence to him.

 

(At one point, Zeph is thankful that he didn’t have to go through the journey, his own fear of leaving behind the townspeople and Nina alone too great for him to step away. Yet, he still regrets not being there for Alfyn when he needed someone most; when there was no one else to tend to his wounds or gave him the comfort he needed when things turned for the worse, he had regretted not going with him - still regrets it to this day, really.)

 

There’s a beat of silence, one that they both relish. At that moment, Alfyn tightens his own grip on Zeph as if he’s grounding himself and as if making sure that he’s there, that this is no illusion. Another hand would wrap itself around the brunette, clinging hopelessly to the back of his clothes while he returns the gesture.

 

_And it’s warm. So warm_.

 

“Your hands are always so cold.” Those are the first words that escape from Zeph’s lips. 

 

Alfyn’s shoulders tense, before shaking with the force from the laughter that bubbles in his throat and comes along with a choked sob. “You think that… that  _I_  don’t know that? I use godsdamned ice to fight.”

 

(And Zeph’s so glad to see that, despite everything, he’s still the same - Alfyn, still ever emotional and kind and warm despite his cold hands that are littered with scars of whatever origin, is still there and here. By his side. Home. _At last_.)

 

Even the other apothecary couldn’t help but laugh despite the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes. Zeph tries  _oh so hard_ to keep his bearings, but alas. Not even he could stop his own emotions, not when the dam that held his worries and fears finally break, letting all of that insignificant amount of stagnant water disappear and make way for the still waters of his affection.

 

“I know,” he whispers. “I know you do. The road must not have been kind to you if you’re this cold, though.”

 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

 

“… That. Or you probably just dipped your hands in an ice bath for me to take pity on you.”

 

Alfyn’s kind eyes go wide, one brow quirking upwards while the other goes down - a bewildered look if Zeph’s ever seen one. “You don’t even believe your own friend, the best pal you did _everything_ with? Shucks. I’m hurt, Zeph.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“Yes, I am! Look— look here, I’m bleeding my heart out for you and here you are, being colder than I am! I’ll never heal from those stinging words of yours.”

 

”Alf, you’re an apothecary. You’re supposed to know how to heal it.”

 

Another pause. Both men take the time to look each other in the eye, to try and keep the facade going for as long as it takes until the joy that rests in the bottom of their stomachs finally tears those masks down.

 

They share a hearty laugh that shakes them to the core, lets the tension disappear from their shoulders, making their shoulders shake and the corners of their mouth reaching their eyes as they bring themselves closer to one another. Zeph’s hand and his lips and his chest tremble, not from the cold touch Alfyn provides, but by the sheer ecstasy of having him in his arms again - that same feeling of joy that also makes him bold enough to move closer, till their lips meet. The words  _‘welcome home’_ roll off his tongue as if it was a norm and tacks the promise of a nice meal and bath to cool his chilly palms.

 

His touch is still ice cold, but the warmth in their hearts make it seem non-existent at this point.


End file.
